Mad Hatter
by Lacadiva
Summary: A different take on the kidnapping: Neal gets a new job and a chance to step as far outside the line as he wishes. But will his new life mean walking away from everyone he ever knew, including Peter?


MAD HATTER

By Lacadiva

Rating: PG-13 for violence.

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, but to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

The three saddest words… "_the final season_…"

_Summary: My take on the end of season five kidnapping. Neal gets a new job, and a chance to step as far outside the line as he wishes. But will his new life mean walking away from everyone he ever knew, including Peter?_

_~WC~_

Neal flinched as one of his three kidnappers whipped the hood from his head, yanking a few strands of hair violently from his scalp along with it.

Light assaulted his eyes, making him squint and blink. But not for long. Neal forced himself to focus. He needed to know who had kidnapped him, and why.

"Mr. Caffrey…"

_A woman's voice…_

"…my apologies for the rough handling, but I was quite certain a more congenial invitation would not have netted the desired result."

She was beautiful. Tall and thin, yet strong. Elegant and edgy. Short cropped black hair. Three tiny diamond studs in each ear. Skin the color of Ethiopian Sidamo with the faintest drop of cream. Her black dress was tight but conservative in length. She stood with arms crossed – not closed off, but somehow in control, and gave Neal a thin yet all-professional smile.

"For future reference, I usually I prefer a more straight forward approach," Neal said sarcastically, hoping to sound firm and unscathed.

"Hood over the head," he continued, "gun shoved in the ribs, sub-vocal threats...a little too Hollywood potboiler, don't you think?"

The woman said nothing, but with not much more than a gaze and the slightest nod, sent the three kidnappers out the door.

This was a woman in power.

"Alone at last," said Neal.

"Please, sit, Mr. Caffrey."

"I prefer to stand."

"_I'd_ prefer you'd sit."

Neal gave the room a quick look as he sank into a comfortable blood red leather chair.

Big room. Soft light. One exit. No windows. Solid walls – no pictures or bad government-sanctioned office art. A glass top desk. Closed black laptop. iPhone on the desk. Empty wire trashcan. Small service table with a glass or possibly plastic pitcher filled with chilled water flanked by two tumblers. The pitcher might be a serviceable weapon, but Neal had a feeling the woman was no doubt concealing a real weapon and could shoot him before he reached other side of the room.

"So, do I have to ask? Or am I allowed to know who you are, where I am and why you brought me here?"

"You may ask me whatever you like, Mr. Caffrey. But I will only tell you what you need to know."

"And how do you know what I need to know?"

"Because it's my job."

"What exactly is your job?"

"For starters, bringing you in."

"Here I am. So…?"

She walked across the room, heading for the water service, high heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

"We call this the Compound."

"That's kind of generic and unimaginative, don't you think? 

"We like to keep things simple."

She poured water and took a sip, then poured a second glass for Neal. She brought it too him, offering him another smile. He accepted the refreshment, not giving away his excitement that it was not plastic but fine, breakable, usable crystal.

"And who are _we_?" he asked before taking a sip.

"_We_ hope to be your new employer."

Neal laughed. It sounded uncomfortable. It was.

"You're not FBI."

"Not even close."

"Then what are you?

"Need to know," she reminded him. 

"Let's start with you, then," said Neal, sitting the glass on the floor near his chair, minding himself of the exact placement in case an opportunity presented itself.

"I hope to be your new handler," she said.

"I don't think so," he said pointedly. "I'm not sure I want you to handle me."

"You haven't heard the pitch."

"Pitch all you want. The FBI will not stop until they find me."

"Yes, we're aware of Agent Peter Burke's record when it comes to finding you, Mr. Caffrey. But it won't matter this time."

Nerves fluttered through Neal's gut. His practiced smile faltered.

"What do you mean?"

She turned and walked to her desk, took a seat and crossed her long legs.

"You can't keep me here. I'm not a…"

"Prisoner? Actually, you are, despite the absence of your anklet. You are still a man without rights. A hunted man…a fugitive."

"Why are you holding me here?"

"That door is unlocked, Mr. Caffrey. You can leave whenever you like."

Neal didn't move right away. He merely stared at the door, breathing in and out, short and shallow. This was far too easy.

"What happens when I open that door?"

"Open it and see."

Neal stood and moved toward the door, reaching for handle.

"But you might want to hear my proposal first."

He stop, turned back to the woman.

"What are you offering?"

"The dream. Freedom. Untold wealth. Adventure."

"Another version of my anklet?"

"You'll never wear an anklet if you work for me, Neal."

"Doing what?"

"Stick around and find out."

She spun the chair around, her back to him. Waiting.

Neal stared at the door handle. Freedom could be on the other side. Or his kidnappers could be standing there with guns drawn, under orders to kill him if he attempted to cross the threshold.

"Okay," Neal said as he turned back to her. Let's hear your proposal."

She stood and turned to face Neal.

"And if I don't like what I hear," he continued, "I'm walking out this door."

"Deal," she said, and indicated the red chair. 

Neal remained standing.

"Tell me who you are," he demanded.

"My code name is Origin."

"Origin? What's your real name?"

She merely smiled.

"Right, need to know," said Neal.

"You catch on fast," said Origin. "I like that."

"Are you a spy?"

Origin said nothing. She merely stared at Neal unblinkingly.

"F.Y.I," Neal said, "I'm not a spy. I'm a thief."

"We're well aware of that. We've done our due diligence. Neal George Caffrey, aka Neal Bennett, aka Danny Brooks, Nick Halden, Nick Holden, Steve Tabernacle – my personal favorite…. Bond forger, art thief, confidence man. Lead the FBI on a merry chase across the U.S. and Europe before being caught – twice - by Agent Burke. Sentenced to four years, and currently serving that sentence as a Criminal Informant for the FBI."

"So you know a few of my aliases. The rest of that information is easy enough to find."

"You haven't seen your mother since you ran away to New York at age 18. Your father's on the lam, after murdering a U.S. Senator. Pratt, who wasn't the most honest man on Capital Hill."

"I'm not impressed yet."

"We know where he is."

Neal's interest piqued. He involuntarily took a step forward.

"You prefer red wine to white, and occasionally a scotch. Neat. You have a thing for strong, dangerous women. Like Sara. And Kate."

Neal's jaw clenched at the sound of her name.

"It was horrible, the way she died. I'm sorry for the way you suffered."

Neal would have taken offense, only Origin appeared to be sincere.

"You know all the highlights. So what?" said Neal.

"I know things even Peter Burke doesn't know. For instance, you think you're smarter than him." 

"So?"

"You have six forged passports in your wall safe at June Ellington's house, along with a large stash of cash – U.S. currency and Euros. You hate guns but you're a crack shot. If the army ever got their hands on you, you'd probably be a sniper."

"I'm not a killer," he said.

"No. But you could be, given the right circumstance, and with a little training."

"Enough!" Neal demanded, moving toward the desk. "What do you want from me? Why the hell am I here?"

Origin merely stared at him.

"Who do you work for? Us or them?"

"I'm a proud American citizen, Neal. A patriot. Does that answer your question?"

"What are you, CIA? NSA? Homeland Security? What do you need more for?"

"You're a very talented man. You can get into places others can't. You have good looks, charm, education, sophistication. Access. You think exceptionally well on your feet. You're willing to take big risk for big payoffs, and you usually get what you want. Despite the fact that you lack a few _virtues_…you're perfect." 

"I'm flattered. But whatever you're selling, I'm not buying."

"Your country needs you."

"Then my country should have asked me and not kidnapped me. My country can find somebody else. You can't hold me here."

"I have no intention of keeping you here."

"Then let me go."

"Not an option."

"Here we go…"

Neal stepped back as she moved from around her desk. A small Taser was in her hand. Where had it come from?

"You've seen things…"

"No, I haven't…" he said, hands up in surrender.

"You've seen _me_."

"Wait…"

"Sorry, Neal."

The jolt took him down hard, his body slamming on the floor.

Instantly the three kidnappers entered the room.

"Dump him?" Cowboy Boots asked.

"Some place out in the open. Make sure Agent Burke finds the body by morning."

End Chapter One.

I have no idea where this is going, but it's going somewhere. Hope you'll be kind and review. As always, thanks for reading!


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